


kiss me on my open mouth

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Americana, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Sexual Tension, deliberate tease!sammy, drive in movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: No way is his little brother coming on to him. Dean is imagining things. And also, maybe, going insane.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 207





	kiss me on my open mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashhearts67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/gifts).



> A birthday gift for trashy that I meant to be like 500 words, turned out to be 3k, and took wayyy longer than expected. Hope you enjoy Sammy being a lil tease and Dean slowly going out of his mind. ;)  
> Title from Off to the Races by Lana del Ray.

Dean was slowly going insane. 

Around age nine Sam had gotten too grown-up for hugs and hand-holding and cuddles but suddenly, in the middle of his worst teenage mood swings, he was touching Dean again. He would sit too close to Dean on the couch when they watched TV or lean against his side while Dean cooked dinner, or throw an arm around his neck when Dean picked him up from soccer practice. 

The casual affection made Dean's heart squeeze every time, but it also made other parts of him take notice in completely inappropriate ways. Every one of Dean’s instincts screamed that Sam was doing it on purpose but that wasn’t possible. The leaning, the smiling, the deliberate brushing against him. No way was his baby brother coming on to him like a small town girl wearing her date-night panties. 

See? Insane.

Over the last 18 months Sam had hit a growth spurt that threatened to bring him almost of a height with Dean. He had grown out of three shoe sizes and five sizes of jeans. He definitely wasn't a little kid anymore and Dean absolutely should not be noticing the things about his little brother that he was noticing but Sam was making it difficult to ignore. When Sam bent over the bathroom sink in nothing but a pair of threadbare boxers riding low on his hips or when Sam hauled himself dripping out of a motel pool, Dean had to drag his eyes away from the smooth plains of his little brother's body before he popped wood.

Obviously he'd been spending too much time at home and the solution was to get fucking laid. Unfortunately Sammy had also turned into a complete bitch about Dean doing anything fun. Seriously, Sam hadn't been this clingy since he was five.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Dean grunted, checking his hair in the bathroom mirror.

Through the open door he could see Sam pouting on the couch, sprawled out in a tank top thin enough to show his nipples and a pair of track shorts that barely covered more than a speedo would. “Nothing.” 

“Did you turn the heat up again?” It was November and the ancient radiator was clanking steadily. “Dad’s gonna flip when he sees the bill.” 

“We’re gonna be gone before he pays it. Like always.” Sam’s scowl deepened. 

That was an argument Dean was becoming expert at dodging. “Put some clothes on if you’re cold.” 

Sam ignored that, like he’d been doing since he was a toddler. Sam had never loved clothes. “When will you be back?” 

“Hopefully not too soon.” Dean leered at him, but it was half-hearted. Sam just scowled back.

“I can’t believe you’re going to a drive-in. Who does that? What is this, 1955?” 

“C’mon, Sammy. A movie, a date, and my Baby, what’s not to like?” The last time they’d been in a town with a drive-in was before Dad had given him the Impala. 

Sam said nothing, just crossed his arms and slouched further on the couch. His knees were spread, barely-there shorts riding up, his junk in imminent danger of escaping through a leg-hole. Dean forced his gaze away. “Don’t wait up, squirt.” 

He got back around 11, working the key in the lock quietly, even more frustrated than when he’d left. Watching a movie in the Impala had been as good as he’d expected, but his date, Felicia, hadn’t been willing to do more than make out. “There’s families here, Dean,” she’d whispered, knocking his hand away from her thigh when he started teasing beneath the hem of her skirt. So Dean had spent two hours with the taste of her lipstick on his tongue and nothing else. His dick was aching, sensitive in his boxers. 

Sam was asleep on the couch, long legs bent. He’d gotten a sweatshirt, one of Dean's, but he hadn’t put it on. Instead he was curled up under it like a blanket, and he had one of the sleeves clutched up against his face, almost in his mouth, like used to chew on his blankets as a baby. 

For a long moment, Dean let himself look. Sam’s soft lips, barely parted in sleep, the delicate shadow of his eyelashes, partially obscured by his messy bangs, his legs, slender and coltish, knobby knees and ankles, fine dark hair on his calves and thighs still child-smooth. 

If Dean let him sleep there, he would wake up cramped and be unbearable in the morning. “Hey.” He nudged Sam’s shoulder. “Wake up, bud. Let’s get you to bed.” 

Sam’s face scrunched adorably and his eyelids fluttered. “Dee?” He lifted his arms up, like a baby asking to be carried, and Dean huffed a laugh, slipping under his shoulder to haul him up.

God, Sam was warm. He shivered when Dean touched him, hands still chilled from two hours in the car on an autumn evening, even with the Impala’s heat blasting. Leaning against him, all sleepy heat, Sam was like a hearth stone, a live coal. His head lolled against Dean’s shoulder, soft hair brushing his ear, breath gusting damp and close against Dean’s throat. 

Gritting his teeth, Dean shuffled Sam into the bedroom, ignoring the fact that his dick was chubbing up for his sleepy, pliant brother the same way it had for a pretty girl. Sam sighed when Dean maneuvered him into bed and squeezed at his arm when he tried to get up, a little frown furrowing his brow. "Dean," he mumbled just like he had when he was a toddler and Dean gave in to the urge to brush the soft curls out of his eyes.

"Go to sleep, Sammy," he whispered, extricating himself. Sam huffed and then settled, and Dean slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror for a long time.

The next morning was Sunday and Sam was even more underfoot than usual. He came out of the bathroom in a towel and poked around naked for something to wear before putting on the same tiny shorts as yesterday and this time an over-large t-shirt that refused to stay up on his shoulders. Dean kept his head on the pillow and pretend to be asleep. His morning wood throbbed against the mattress. 

In the middle of Dean jerking off in the shower, Sam pounded on the bathroom door and yelled, “I forgot to brush my teeth.” 

Yanking his hand off his dick, Dean bellowed back, “Well you can goddamn wait,” but it was too late, Sam was already opening the door - cheap fucking rental with a busted lock. Dean had to stand there pretending to shampoo his hair with his dick rock hard, while his brother brushed and spat two feet away. 

Then, in the kitchen, Sam perched on the counter eating an orange while Dean made coffee, his bare knee practically bumping Dean’s wrist as he screwed off the top of the coffee tin. Dumping the grounds into the filter, Dean went to the stove to fill the kettle, and when he turned back around, Sam was licking orange juice off his fingers one by one, pink tongue curling graphically.

“Would you fucking quit it?” Dean snapped. 

Sam’s eyes widened in faux innocence. “What?” 

“Get your ass off the counter, it’s unsanitary.” 

“Don’t snap at me just because you didn’t get laid last night.” 

“Who says I didn’t get laid?” 

“I’d have heard about it by now,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “About how _right_ you were about drive-ins, how great it was to watch a movie and fuck in your car at the same time.”

“None of your business,” Dean huffed. “Get off the counter, I gotta turn the stove on.” 

It wasn’t like Sam was in any danger of being burned but he hopped down anyway, giving Dean a tolerant look. “We could go to the drive-in tonight.” 

“I thought it was the most uncool thing since macrame.” 

Sam shrugged, t-shirt falling down over one bare shoulder. “We never do anything fun together anymore.” 

Dean’s hunter sense was telling him there was danger here, heart pounding with adrenaline. He hadn’t even had his fucking coffee yet. But how could he say no to that? “Okay.” 

That seemed to satisfy Sam, and he toned down his antics all day, doing his homework and only chewing on the pen a little, letting Dean clean the weapons without interruption. Dean knew a waiting game when he saw one, and tried not to be lulled by the false security, but the domestic peace was seductive. When Sam was like this, close and calm, Dean though he didn’t need anything else in the whole world. 

Well. Except to get his rocks off somehow.

Finishing his homework, Sam moved from the dining table to the couch with a comic book he’d swiped from a gas station somewhere, sprawling on his stomach, kicking his bare feet in the air, perfect round ass on display in those obscene shorts. Dean could see the crease at the top of Sam’s thigh, and imagined, viscerally, putting his mouth there and biting. 

He was so fucking screwed. 

When it was time to go, Sam put on a hoodie with a canvas jacket over it, but he hadn’t changed out of those goddamn shorts. 

“Aren’t you going to put on pants? It’s freezing out there.” 

“I’ll be okay. I read in one of my health classes that testosterone makes teenage boys run warmer than the rest of the population. And we’ve got a blanket anyway.” 

There wasn't a good argument other than _you're distracting me_ so Dean let it drop. “Freak,” he mumbled, grabbing his jacket.

The Sunday night showing at the drive-in was sparsely attended and Dean parked the Impala in a prime spot, on the dark side of the lot away from the arcade and the bathrooms. It was already chilly, like he told Sam, and he left the Impala’s radiator running and dug the nubby wool blanket out of the back seat, the one they had both curled up to sleep under too many times to count. 

Sam had gone to get popcorn and candy, and Dean could see him in the rearview mirror walking back from the concessions stand, pale legs long and luminous in the darkness. He was sucking on a Red Vine, lips pursed. Dean yanked his gaze away. 

Crawling into the car, Sam dropped a can of coke into Dean’s lap, making him jump at the sudden chill, and wedged the tub of popcorn against the gearshift. There was plenty of room on the bench seat, even with how long Sammy had gotten in the last year and a half, but Sam curled up right against Dean's shoulder, tossing the wool blanket over both of them and fiddling with the knob on the radio until he reached the right station. 

He settled in with a contented sigh as the commercials came on, and Dean felt his heart rate pick up. He could smell Sam’s skin and sweat and cheap shampoo, and the greasy familiar scent of popcorn. It was a smell Dean associated strongly with kissing in the dark. When he took a deep breath to steady himself it filled his nostrils. 

The movie started but he was barely seeing it, instead watching out of the corner of his eye as the light danced across Sam's fine features. He was chewing his candy absently, tugging it between his teeth and worrying it with his tongue, lips stained cherry-red. Dean's stomach rolled slowly and he shifted, jeans growing tight. 

With the slight movement Sam's hand landed almost coincidentally on Dean's thigh. His eyes shifted sideways towards Dean, bright and glassy in the light. Sam swallowed, licked his lips. “Dean?” This was it, the move they both had been waiting for, dancing around. The move Sam had been building up to and Dean had been trying to convince himself to say no to. It was the same tone Sam used to use to beg for another bedtime story or the last of the sugary cereal. Dean had spent a lifetime failing to say no to that tone. “I always thought my first kiss might be some place like this." 

Dean closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them again, Sam was right there, blue light from the screen swimming in his wide eyes, emphasizing the elfin beauty of his face. 

“But there’s never been anyone I really wanted to try it with. No one I felt safe enough with. Except you.” There was still that hand on Dean’s thigh, warm through the denim. “Dean, can we try? Just to see?” 

He was going to say no, he _was_ , and then Sam’s mouth was on his, tasting like red licorice, clumsy and uncertain and so, so sweet, and Dean was opening to him helplessly. His hands were on Sam’s narrow hips, feeling the rough wool of the blanket, and then skin under his fingertips as Sam got his legs up under him on the seat, almost kicking the popcorn over as he straddled Dean’s thighs, blanket sliding off them. Dean’s dick twitched emphatically, his breath coming short as Sam’s hips snugged right up against his, wriggling. 

Their lips slid together, slick and sloppy; usually Dean was good at this, _spectacular_ at this, but Sam’s mouth on his his had blown all his fuses except for the one uncomfortably hard in his jeans. 

“Dean,” Sam whined, grinding their dicks together, those goddamn shorts stretched obscenely over his hard-on, long legs splayed over Dean’s lap, and Dean realized that he was growling low in his throat, biting at Sam’s lips, kissing him deep and rough. Sam was going to damn well find out what he’d been asking for all these months of sideways looks and lingering touches. 

Sliding down in the seat a little to get leverage, Dean gripped Sam’s bare thighs and began to guide him in a steady rocking motion. He’d taught plenty of girls to do this little backseat dance, the sweet ones who’d never tried it before, getting their first kiss at the drive-in, tasting like red licorice. Dean groaned into Sam’s mouth, fingers gripping his skinny legs hard enough to bruise. 

Sam was a fast learner. He caught the rhythm and began to ride Dean and Dean felt all the breath go out of his lungs. Not to be outdone, he got a hand between them, cupping Sam’s cock through the silky fabric of the shorts and Sam made a hilarious squeaking sound. All Dean had to do was pull the elastic down, and he had his little brother’s dick in his hand, long and leaking already. 

When he stroked it, Sam wailed and Dean couldn’t help glancing out the window, but there was no one else parked nearby. The obscene show Sam was putting on was all for him. 

“Like that?” he growled. “That what you wanted?” 

“Y-yeah, yes,” Sam hiccoughed. “Yes, Dean.” He bit his lip, thrusting unsteadily into Dean’s fist, hands braced against the back of the seat. Dean’s own dick was aching in his jeans, and he managed to pop the button open one handed. 

“Good. I got you. That’s so good.” Dean didn’t even know what he was saying, something between the soothing patter for a first-time girl and the big-brother praise that came like a native language. “Yeah, just like that.” 

“Dean!” Sam’s head was thrown back, cock throbbing and wet against Dean’s palm, looking about to lose it any second. And, fuck, it was embarrassing, but Dean was about to go off too just from having his little brother writhing in his lap, from kissing him and stroking him off. After months, maybe years, of dancing around this, hurtling towards this, they were finally hitting the water at full throttle and Dean felt ready to crack open. 

His thumb slid in the slick dripping down Sam’s cock, dragging under the flared head and Sam cried out, his whole body convulsing. Hot liquid splattered over Dean’s hand, all over his shirt. Sam moaned through it, rocking his hips into Dean’s grip, and Dean felt the teetering, electric edge of orgasm knife through him. 

Tearing open his own jeans, he grabbed himself with a hand slick with Sam’s come, and it took just two strokes before Dean followed him, coming so hard that he couldn’t tell if the flickering lights behind his eyelids were from the movie screen or from nearly passing out. 

Sam was watching him when Dean blinked his eyes open again. He had two fingers in his mouth and Dean’s spent cock twitched with an aftershock. They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Sam rolled to the side, reaching for a handful of paper napkins to wipe up with. 

The movie was only half-way over, even though it seemed like a lifetime had passed. Not passed. Changed. Sam dragged the blanket over them again, and reached for the popcorn, which had lost some of its newly popped lightness as it grew cold, fake butter congealing. Dean ate a handful anyway when Sam offered it to him, because the alternative was to spend the rest of the movie with the taste of Sam’s tongue in his mouth. 

They didn’t speak until the film finished, and then in the sudden darkness as the credits rolled Sam tipped his head against Dean’s shoulder and whispered, “Thanks Dean.”

Pressed against his arm, Sam’s body was hot even through fabric. The tension between them had snapped and warped and reformed like molten metal, into something that pulsed inescapably in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He cleared his throat. “You like the movie?” 

“Yeah.” Sam’s breath against his neck made Dean shiver. “It was exactly what I wanted.” 

Dean could hear the grin in his brother’s voice, and thought with a swooping feeling that was both feel and anticipation, that when Sam set his mind to something he never let it go. 

That didn’t bode well for Dean’s long-term sanity, but with Sam tucked against his side he couldn’t bring himself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


End file.
